Chapters (38)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- Chapter 1 - Wednesday afternoon, April 6, 1988
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3 - DEBORAH UNRUH
- Chapter 4 - Thursday morning, April 7, 1988
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6 - DEBORAH UNRUH
- Chapter 7 - Thursday afternoon, April 7, 1988
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9 - WALKER MCNALLY
- Chapter 10 - Friday, April 8, 1988
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12 - WALKER MCNALLY
- Chapter 13 - Monday, April 11, 1988
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15 - JON CORSO
- Chapter 16 - Wednesday, April 13, 1988
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18 - JON CORSO
- Chapter 19 - Wednesday afternoon, April 13, 1988
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21 - DEBORAH UNRUH
- Chapter 22 - Thursday night, April 14, 1988
- Chapter 23 - Friday afternoon, April 15, 1988
- Chapter 24 - WALKER MCNALLY
- Chapter 25 - Monday, April 18, 1988
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27 - JON CORSO
- Chapter 28 - Wednesday afternoon, April 20, 1988
- Chapter 29 - WALKER MCNALLY
- Chapter 30 - Wednesday evening, April 20, 1988
- Chapter 31 - JON CORSO
- Chapter 32 - Thursday, April 21, 1988
- Chapter 33 - Thursday, April 21, 1988
- EPILOGUE
“I’ll tell you who,” Stacey said. “Amateurs, that’s who. Which is why they never tried it again. The second kidnap blew up in their faces and that was the end of it. Two career criminals cured of the urge. Speaking of which, I’m out of here. You come up with anything good, you can wake me later on.”
“I have a question before you go,” I said. “Have either of you ever run across a Lompoc PI named Hale Brandenberg?”
Stacey said, “Sure, I know Hale. He started out about the same time I did, only he was younger by a goodly number of years.”
“You think he’s still around?”
“Last I heard. You want to talk to him?”
“I’d love to. It’s not about this case. It’s something else.”
“Let me make a few calls and see if I can find out where he ended up.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
Saturday morning I slept in until 8:00, a luxury for me. My breakfast meeting with Rain was scheduled for 9:00, which gave me time to dawdle over the newspaper and my first cup of coffee. Once I’d showered and dressed, I walked two blocks over to Cabana and two blocks down. On the beach I could see where ropes of kelp had washed up on the sand. The tide was going out and the waves rushed forward and then receded, tugging the gray-green fronds into the depths again. The wind was up and I could see whitecaps ruffling the water beyond the surf. In the harbor the masts of sailboats swayed back and forth in a rhythm of their own. Countless gulls formed a gray funnel cloud and descended on the beach, two of them squabbling over an abandoned cellophane bag half filled with Cheetos. The public swimming pool was still closed for the season and the children’s play area was deserted.
At the entrance to the coffee shop I paused. There was only one young woman at a table alone. She raised a hand and waved, having identified me by the same process of elimination. I indicated to the hostess that I was joining a friend. I slid into the padded Naugahyde booth across from her and signaled to a waitress who was passing with a fresh carafe of coffee. She turned my mug right-side up and filled it.